


Scars and Scarves and Snowflakes

by alekszova



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, One Shot, Soft Gavin Reed, a smidgen of angst, christmas is something else
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 18:56:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17147252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekszova/pseuds/alekszova
Summary: Connor knits Gavin a scarf for Christmas.





	Scars and Scarves and Snowflakes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [same_side](https://archiveofourown.org/users/same_side/gifts).



> "When Christmas finally comes, and that warm, tingly, mints-and-sweaters-and-fireplace-fires feeling gathers in the bottom of your stomach, and you're lying on the floor with all the lights off but the ones on the Christmas tree, and listening to the silence of the snow falling outside, you see the point. For that one instance in time, everything is good in the world. It doesn't matter if everything isn't actually good. It's the one time of the year when pretending is enough."  
> Made You Up - Francesca Zappia

_October 8_

“Did you have a good birthday?”

He sighs and thinks of the presents.

The cat (which he promptly named Mocha) he went with Connor to pick up from the shelter. The singular black cat. Not quite a kitten anymore, but still a scrawny, tiny thing. _Runt of the litter._ Just like him.

The mug (which says _#1 DIPSHIT_ on the side) he received from Hank. Connor smiled from over Hank’s shoulder and nodded approvingly. _You’re growing on him._ Gavin doesn’t think so. He just thinks Hank cares more about Connor than he hates Gavin, and that’s enough. It’s more than he could ever ask for.

The hat (which has nothing but the company logo stitched on the front) from Tina, which he wore the entire evening with the tag still attached until Connor plucked it off his head and tore it away with a sigh.

And a kiss from Connor, slow and magical and wonderful with the October breeze settling in. Like their first kiss. Like the one they had when Gavin asked him stupidly for one on his birthday a year ago and Connor complied. He hopes it becomes a tradition. He wants it to be a recurring gift.

The sex was good, too, but the kiss was a thousand times better. He’d trade a life of celibacy for one kiss with Connor like that.

“Yeah,” he says, reaching out towards him. “Spectacular.”

Connor smiles and so does he, but it falters when Connor reaches out and draws a gentle line across the scar on his nose. It has had years upon years to fade, but that never makes him forget what caused it.

“Sorry,” he says quietly, withdrawing. “I just—”

“You know,” Gavin says. He reaches out to Connor but he’s sitting up already, like he’s going to leave. “Connor? Do you know?”

“I don’t want to ruin—”

“You aren’t ruining anything,” he says, because he’s wanted to ask this for a while, because he’s seen the way Connor will sometimes look towards the scar with a look so full of sadness that it almost makes Gavin sick to think that Connor _pities_ him. “You know, don’t you?”

“Technically speaking, yes.”

He almost didn’t think about it—that Connor would know. He thought he could go his entire life without Connor knowing or maybe that he was wrong and it was just the fact there was a scar that Connor hated he had because it meant pain.

But he knows.

_Technically speaking._

“What does that mean?”

“I didn’t look it up,” he says, barely looking back to Gavin. His LED is circling yellow and it would almost be a pretty shade if it wasn’t constantly there. If Connor could go a little bit longer than a few hours without thinking of terrible things. “CyberLife… gave me files on every single person in the DPD. I needed access to how a person’s life was so I could have the best approach when dealing with them.”

“And you had my file?”

“Yes.”

“And you looked through it?”

“It wasn’t necessarily like looking through a file,” Connor replies, but his voice is barely a whisper now. “I just had the information. If it was… locked behind something I would have waited. I wouldn’t have exploited your trust. I would have let you tell me when you were ready, _if_ you were ready.”

“But you know.”

“I have a vague idea.”

Gavin sighs, because he doesn’t want to have this conversation now but he also _needs_ to know how much Connor knows.

“What kind of vague idea?”

“Gavin—”

“Tell me.” Gavin says the words as gentle as he can. He isn’t angry with Connor. He would never be angry with Connor about something CyberLife did or made him do. That is a mess that is far too complicated to get into, and ends with them both in tears far too often.

“There isn’t any official… determination, but I can come to my own conclusions,” he says, and Gavin can’t help but think how easy it must have been for him to come to a _conclusion._ Connor was built to come to understand every piece of evidence in a crime scene. “In your hospital report, there was notations that small fragments of glass were found in the wound. And you had broken many bones prior to that. So had your mother. And your sister and brother. Your father never did.”

_No,_ Gavin supposes, _it isn’t hard to come to the proper conclusion at all._

“It was a mirror,” he replies, reaching for Connor’s hand, finding it and holding on tight. “That was the pieces of glass they found.”

“I’m so sorry, Gavin.”

“I know.” _Everyone always is._

He looks back up to Connor’s face, hadn’t realized when his gaze had drifted away to the darkness of the room to the orange hued folds and wrinkles of the blanket lit by the streetlamps outside. His LED has turned from yellow to red, there are tears in his eyes and his face is scrunched in it’s attempt to keep from crying.

“You want to kill him, don’t you?” Gavin whispers.

“He’s already dead.”

“But you want to kill him.”

Connor nods, numbly. Yes, if there was some way his father was alive, Connor would absolutely want to kill him. He probably could get away with it, too. He’s an android. No finger prints. No DNA.

“Me too.”

 

_November 4_

Connor places a gentle kiss against Gavin’s nose and like all the other times he looks away, wiggles his nose like he’s trying to brush away the feeling. And every time Connor lifts his chin up and makes Gavin meet his gaze and he offers a small smile and a replacement kiss on his forehead.

“I love you,” he says.

Gavin returns it muffled and snuggled close against his chest, burying his face against Connor’s chest.

He decides then, there, to help, in whatever way he can.

 

_November 17_

Figuring out the _how_ is easy. Figuring out the _when_ is more difficult.

The two of them work together nearly every day. The two of them spend most nights in each other’s beds, albeit more at Gavin’s place than Connor’s (or, rather, Hank’s). They have their time apart but it is far and few between and it has never bothered either of them. The time at work is different than the time at home. A different atmosphere where they can hold hands without being teased by Tina or Chris. A place where they can kiss without listening to Hank ramble on about how gross PDA is.

And, Connor is fairly good at sticking to the rules of the workplace. Kissing in front of coworkers isn’t acceptable. Gavin, however, cares less about the rules. He likes to bend and break as many as he can, as if he’s in a competition with Hank to get the worse disciplinary folder.

But he slowly finds a way. Little bits and pieces well hidden behind closed doors.

 

_November 23_

Deep orange and faded purple and soft red-almost pink.

Maybe they don’t go together.

But they are now.

Quite a bit like the two of them, Connor thinks.

Wrong, perhaps. But very, very right.

 

_December 1_

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing!”

Gavin laughs a little, but he cranes his head to see what is hidden behind Connor’s back, but he does an excellent job at keeping it hidden.

“Seriously, what is that?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Yeah?”

“Christmas.”

“Okay,” he says, holding up his hands in surrender. “Fine.”

He leaves the room, closing the door behind him. He’s tempted to open it back up quickly, peek in on Connor, but he knows better. And he hasn’t had someone in his life to get him presents and struggle to keep them secret in so long he doesn’t want to ruin that.

Gavin steps away from the room, hears the door open behind him and turns around to face Connor. But Connor is quick, a speedy fucking bastard that is always a step ahead of Gavin, even when he thinks he isn’t. A hand on his waist, dragging him back forward. A kiss planted against his lips. Three soft words murmured against his skin.

He will never get tired of hearing those.

So he says them back. Again and again. Because he means it, and because Connor needs to hear them, and because he will never get tired of being able to say them.

“I love you, too.”

 

_December 21_

_Orange. Purple. Red. Orange. Purple. Red. Orange. Purple. Red._

Almost done. _Almost._

 

_December 25_

“Merry Christmas.”

Gavin smiles and he takes the box from Connor’s hand. One gift for birthdays and holidays. That’s their rule. They have to limit themselves, and it’s something that Gavin has always been absurdly grateful for. He is terrible at knowing what gifts to get people. He is terrible at deciding what is right for someone.

He unwraps the box, tossing the shredded pieces of wrapping paper to the side, finding the bundled up fabric inside of the box. Orange and purple and red.

“What is this?” he asks, pulling it out.

Connor reaches forward quickly, almost like he’s embarrassed. There’s a blush spreading across his cheeks in a way that it shouldn’t. He’s an android. Androids shouldn’t blush. But he _is_ and he’s taking the fabric and looping it around Gavin’s neck. The scarf is long—overly so and knitted with the softest yarn Gavin has ever felt. The colors don’t go very well together. They’re not quite suited for one another.

It’s his first clue that Connor made this himself.

Surely an android should be able to understand color theory, but maybe that is a topic too strange for an android like Connor, built for blood and gore and murder investigations, to ever really understand _color theory_ right. And does it matter? Connor knitted him a scarf.

_Connor knitted him a fucking scarf._

“I need you to know I love you,” Connor whispers, pulling the fabric around his head in another loop.  His hands come to a stop, holding at the two ends draped around the front of his neck. The fabric has been pulled up over his face, covering his faded scar on his stupid nose. “And I think you look quite good.”

He smiles, and he knows the smile is broken. He pulls the scarf down a little, reaches out to Connor’s hand and holds it tight. He has avoided mirrors for nearly twenty years. He has hated that this thing has existed on his face and he couldn’t even grow his hair to style it to hide it without looking like an absolute freak.

He has had twenty years to try and get used to it and he hasn’t.

And Connor has made him a scarf long enough to hide it. Whether he meant it that way or not, he is going to keep it forever.

“You don’t have to wear it—”

“Of course I’m gonna fucking wear it.”

 

_December 26_

It’s difficult to say if the scarf is _well-made._ It’s not perfect. It’s falling apart a little bit in some spots. It’s long and it stays curled around his face, the loose gaps between the spaces overlapping enough that the cold air can’t get through. The ends are made to have tassels and they fray just a little bit. The knots aren’t as tight as they could be. It won’t last a year. It might not even last a month.

But Connor made it, and he will wear it until the very last part of it comes undone.

 

_December 28_

“Gavin?”

“Yes, Tina?”

“That scarf is the ugliest fucking thing you’ve ever worn, and you’ve worn some ugly shit.”

He laughs, but he pulls the scarf around his neck a little tighter, burying his face in the too-soft yarn. It is a little ugly. Mocha tried to use it as a blanket, kneaded the fabric with her sharp claws and made even more of it come undone, left fur clinging to it that he couldn’t get off. He’s only had it for a few days and it’s already undergone so much.

And it’s barely left him, too.

Connor had to hold him still and unwind it from his neck last night to keep him from going to bed with it. Expertly placed kisses used as a distraction.

“Connor made it for me,” he says, and his voice is quieter than he means it to be. He is lost in thought, thinking about soft kisses and soft fabric. He clears his throat, repeats the words again, “Connor made it for me and it’s the best fucking thing I own.”

And it’s true.

If his apartment caught fire, if he could only save three things it would be Connor, his cat, and this scarf.

 

_December 30_

He traces a careful line over the scar on Gavin’s nose and he moves a little in his sleep, like he can tell someone is touching it. Connor leans forward and places a kiss on his forehead, holds him a little tighter to his chest.

He loves him. More than anything. He wishes that the scar didn’t bring up bad memories. He wishes he didn’t feel like he had to hide it. He wishes for a lot of things, even if androids aren’t meant to wish or hope. Luck and fortune are not logical things. He should think of this as only facts and straightforward details. Gavin has a scar that causes him pain and there is little Connor can do about it.

But there is something about deviancy that makes him use words like _luck._

Because he is lucky—he has Gavin and he has a job and he has friends.

And _wishes._

Because he does wish for many things—more time and good memories.

And _love._

Because he does feel love—and he didn’t think he could. Or, even if he thought he could, he never thought it would be _Gavin Reed._ Cruel and mean and hating all things android-related. Fighting and brutish and—

So,

_soft_

on the inside.

He hadn’t expected it to turn out this way—Gavin wrapping his arms around his waist and never letting him go, burying his face in the crook of his neck, leaving kisses on his forehead and his cheeks whenever he could, wanting nothing more than just to hold his hand when they walked down the street.

Gavin isn’t awake, but if he was, Connor would tell him again and again how much he loves him.

 

_January 2_

“Gavin,” Connor says, his voice caught in a half-sigh as he stomps off towards the other end of the street. Connor reaches out after him, pulls him to a stop, turning him quickly around. “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes. I never should have told you to stop wearing the scarf.”

“Fucking damn right you shouldn’t have.”

Connor smiles, just a little, and it breaks the fake anger on Gavin’s face and he smiles, too. “It is failing apart, though.”

Too quickly, it is falling apart. But Gavin has barely taken it off, and the cat keeps grabbing the end of the tassels and pulling it down from its hook and making a bed in it.

“I’ll fucking wear two pieces of yarn if that’s all that’s left by the end.”

“I could just make you a new one. It’ll be better.” More effort put into making sure it stays together. Maybe a little less long, too. “And gloves. A hat.”

Gavin shakes his head, but he doesn’t say anything further. He moves his hands upwards, unwinding the scarf enough to take the end and loop it around Connor’s neck, drawing him closer and closer until he can lean upwards and kiss him.

“I like this one.”

“Hank said it was ugly.”

“So did Tina. I can still like it.”

“I can pick better colors—”

“I like these.”

“Gavin…” he looks away, almost annoyed, not quite, and he feels Gavin’s lips against his jaw, his hand turning on Connor’s neck to turn him back to face him. But he’s a little too short, and he’s stumbling forward, trying to reach Connor’s lips on tiptoes.

Connor’s hand comes to rest at his lower back, steadying him, helping Gavin kiss him properly in this snow street with the scarf looped around both of their necks. Soft material and soft kisses and a warm feeling spreading out from his chest.

 

_January 7_

“What are you doing?”

Gavin opens his eyes, looking away from the ceiling to Connor’s blurry shape in the dark. He’d turned the lights off, laid on the floor to quiet his thoughts. Let them go and focus instead on just the atmosphere of the room. It is one of the few things that helps empty the clusterfuck of words in his head.

“I was trapped.”

He looks towards the end of his scarf, how it had been left unfurled beside him just enough for the cat to take it over as a bed, anchoring him down to the floor to never get up again. He’s stuck here forever. Imprisoned by a scrawny little furball.

Connor tilts his head, looking between Gavin’s face and Mocha curled up tight, purring softly.

“Would you like company?”

The scarf.

The cat.

Connor.

The only three things in this apartment that matter to him.

“Yes.”

He lays down beside Gavin, his hand reaching out for Connor’s. He doesn’t close his eyes. Not like before. He likes the way Connor’s face looks under most circumstances, but here, in the dark, lit by the green and red lights of the Christmas tree, it makes him smile and fall in love all over again.

This place has always felt more like _his_ than his own house did growing up, but it never felt like _home_ until Connor came along.

“Hey, I—”

“We should take the tree down,” Connor says quietly. “It’s been nearly two weeks.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Tomorrow?”

And he thinks maybe Connor is considering it right now.

The darkness and the lights and the snow. The wrapping paper sitting in the recycling bin and the scarf wrapped around Gavin’s neck right now. The coziness of their hands held at their side, of the warmth in the apartment. The quiet noise of the cat purring and the world outside as snow falls and cars pass by.

“Maybe the day after,” he mumbles, and when he turns to face Gavin and kiss him on the nose, he doesn’t shy away and he doesn’t wrinkle his nose as if it could make the scar disappear. He just holds Connor’s hand a little tighter.

**Author's Note:**

> happy holidays ♥ 
> 
> i used a random color generator for the scarf colors so here are the hex codes if anyones interested:  
> #c25a5f #777291 #b35910


End file.
